Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "indie-publishing"

It's coming up for three years since I first embarked upon the crazy venture of self publishing. Here, in no apparent order, are the lessons I've learned.

People will be snobbish

Something you'll discover early on: when some people hear the words "self publishing," they'll hear "vanity publishing", and nothing will convince them otherwise. If you decide to self publish, you have to do it for the right reasons. If you think you're not ready or your writing isn't good enough, I urge you to reconsider.

I know exactly why I self published. I'd repeatedly been told that although my plots and writing were fine, my inclusion of LGBT characters meant my books were "niche", with the oft heard phrase, "If you made them straight ..." I researched lesbian publishing houses but the books always gave the impression of having been knocked up by a dirty old man in his shed, the typical cover showing an orgasmic blonde straddling a butch brunette's face.

I knew this mindset was wrong. There was a market for my kind of story, and I was determined to find it. The success of self published authors like Kiki Archer has proved that the Kindle is the natural home for lesbian books.

It won't make a fortune

If the media condescends to mention self publishing, it's always in the same breath as multi million bestsellers like Amanda Hocking or E L James. This may give fledgling writers the impression that it's a cakewalk. Quick reality check: your average traditionally published author earns around £11,000 a year. Your average self published author, having far fewer resources, will inevitably make less.

Some of the guides I've read have been astonishingly cavalier, recommending that writers jack in their day jobs and promote their book 24/7. Unless you're Bruce Wayne or a stay at home parent, this isn't an option for most people. In my experience, your earnings from your ebook will be a supplement to your main income rather than a living.

Use social media

Some writers regard social media with a mixture of distaste and suspicion, arguing that the greats managed perfectly well without it. Time to get real: if your novel only exists as an ebook, it's your number one resource. It won't survive without it.

Traditionally published authors have marketing teams working on their behalf. When you're self printed, you're your publicist, and you have to make every piece of communication count. Don't rest on your laurels. You need to use a variety of platforms; you should at the very least be on Facebook and Twitter, and I strongly advise having a presence on Goodreads as well. Don't make all your posts sales oriented; just as you wouldn't buy from someone who pursued you down the street, hitting you on the head with a hammer, no one will succumb to heavy handed techniques. Take part on writer and reader forums and make friends. If people get to like you, you'll have allies and potential readers.

Blog!

Blogging is an essential part of a writer's utility belt, whatever the cynics might think. It's the most versatile way to communicate with your audience, whether it's discussing tricks of the trade or commenting on news stories. The best thing about it is you can update as little or often as you wish, and cover whatever you like. Like participating on forums, it allows readers to see the real you.

You can't guess what people will like

A truth readers might not realise: every writer firmly believes their latest book is their best. And since they're human, they're bound to have favourites. They might hate one book because it reminds them of their ex, might like another because they had a ball writing it.

This doesn't translate to sales. The Revenge of Rose Grubb is a very personal book, and I think it's better than The Governess, but it lags far behind the older book in terms of popularity. Like anything else, a book can capture readers' imaginations or be in the right place at the right time; a genre might drop in or out of fashion. You can't guess if a book will be a bestseller - and if you deliberately write to tick boxes, you'll end up with a shallow, derivative work.

Don't get disheartened

There's a human tendency to expect instant results - and to feel like a failure when they're not forthcoming. If you're the kind of person who checks their sales every few hours or cries over a bad review, self publishing may not be for you.

Writing is one of the most personal occupations there is. It hurts when a stranger criticises your creation. But if you genuinely want to make writing your career, you'll have to keep on going. Just as a salesperson can't lock themselves in the toilet and refuse to come out, you can't let a bad experience put you off.

Ultimately the pros outweigh the cons. I've had enjoyable chats with readers about certain plot points and received reviews that made me walk on air. One reviewer found Grubb after the search term "lesbian" yielded pages of tasteless threesome fics; while it wasn't quite what she had been looking for, she couldn't put it down. That put a huge dopey smile on my face.

A chat with Justin Bienvenue from Indie Author Tactics about Love and Robotics, research and writers' block.

http://beta.thenovels.net/groups/iat-...

You've finished your latest book. It's suited and booted on the website of your choice, the triumphant result of years of toil. Come on, you've scaled Everest! There should be ticker tape, singing ewoks and the rest!

So why do you feel like a burst crisp packet?

Welcome to the phenomenon known as the Post Book Slump. You're delighted that your book is out, you enjoy promoting it ... but.

You've spent so long polishing this plot, hanging out with these characters, that you can't help but feel a void. It sounds precious but the nearest analogy I can think of is an amicable breakup. Although you knew it was time for the relationship to end, you're still wistful and recalling the highlights. You should be moving on but part of you wants to wallow and eat chocolate by the kilo.

Some writers charge headlong into a new project. Though everyone's different, this approach didn't work for me. After finishing Rose Grubb I launched straight into another story, convinced I was on a winning streak. Four chapters later I was forced to admit that it wasn't inspiration but a need to write something, anything. I was writing on the rebound!

Your best bet is to take a few months off to recover. If a new story occurs to you, great, but don't go further than planning just yet. If it's a genuinely good idea it'll still be waiting after your sabbatical. Lose yourself in other media - read and watch with your inner critic switched off. Of course you'll be expected to market and discuss your book, but don't prolong it as an excuse to cling on. One of the undeniable perks of being an indie author is you can set your own deadlines; if you want to spend the next few months lindy hopping or taking photos of post boxes, that's your business.

Though the Post Book Slump can be a drag, it serves two valuable purposes. Not only does it act as a kind of exorcism, clearing the way for your next book, but it reminds you how much you love writing in the first place. You can't miss something you've never experienced, after all.

Creative writing courses are the subject of intense debate among authors. Some say they helped enormously in terms of confidence and style; others make the excellent point that Dickens and the Brontes never went to a creative writing class. So I thought I'd share my experiences.

Upping sticks to Lancaster to study creative writing was the riskiest thing I'd done. The year was 2004; I'd achieved four good A-Levels (along with a belated GCSE Maths), and four of my chosen unis had made offers. There was only one serious contender: Lancaster, the one with a creative writing program. Yoink.

Cue commentary from concerned family and friends. "English Language sounds boring. Don't you want to do Lit instead?" "Why study at some arts college nobody's heard of?" "That's not a real degree!"

I won't say I didn't have reservations. The memory of my two rejected manuscripts was still fresh. Writing was my first love - what if I didn't have any talent? Could you be drummed off the course for being bad?

For the first few years the course was divided into two. You'd attend lectures about the tricks of the trade, given by various members of the department. These were optional but I went religiously. Then there was the real meat of the degree: the seminar, generally first thing on a Wednesday. You were expected to write a new work each week and submit it for your peers to critique. If it was a short piece you had to read it aloud. This done, your tutor weighed in with questions and suggestions.

I can still remember the first piece I submitted. Darling Loeb, a poem about the Chicago thrill killers Leopold and Loeb. I was so carried away by writing it, I never once considered how my colleagues might react. They didn't know me from Adam and I was writing about toxic gay relationships and murder! They were polite but obviously thought I was unhinged. Z (the tutor) said it reminded me of The Secret History, my then favourite book. I could've kissed her.

Z was a legend. She was intimidating to begin with - rusty voice, Gorgon stare - but her criticisms were always fair and pushed you to your limits. I couldn't have had a better first year tutor. Her speciality was plays and scripts - she'd written for Holby City - and she knew what worked, and what would sell.

Outsiders may dismiss creative writing as a soft option, but it's incredibly high maintenance. You're passing your innermost thoughts to strangers for judgement. If you've grilled them previously, don't expect them to go lightly on you. You could tell which students had taken it as an extra and which ones wanted to be writers; the former mostly dropped it by the end of the year. Or you had students like the guy we dubbed "Mozart", who wanted the cachet of being an artist without doing any of the work. He eviscerated other people's writing but refused to read or discuss his own. He didn't last a term.

I must have submitted dozens of pieces over the years, many of which were the germs for later projects. There was Daughters of Lilith, the dystopia I intend to finish someday; poems about mythological or literary characters; the Raven Street Diaries (forerunners to my blogs); miscellaneous stories, one of which starred a fiendish cat who wanted to kill her owner's girlfriend ... all of varying lengths and quality. As G (my wise and wicked third year tutor) used to say: "Your writing may be your baby, but someone has to tell you when your baby is ugly."

The classes established habits I have to this day. A first draft is never enough. Cut 10% - lots of prose is pointless background chatter. And, of course, the creative writing motto, "Show, don't tell." Don't underestimate your readers' intelligence, but don't assume they have the same esoteric tastes as you either. Always ask for a second opinion; it could be that the scene you think is innocuous is grossly offensive from another point of view, or your genius idea is a doppelgänger of a story that already exists.

When I was younger I wondered if the course was worth it. It didn't earn me a publishing deal or put me in touch with any big shots. I was also irritated by the snobbery of some of the people I met - they referred to "genre fiction" as though it was frivolous dreck, but it sold more copies than all their worthy literary tomes. Yes, I want to write the best fiction I possibly can, but I wouldn't mind making some money as well, however vulgar that may sound.

Now I'm the wrong side of thirty, I understand the lesson they were trying to impart. Writing isn't about instant gratification, it's about graft, rejection and tenacity. It's about believing in what you have to sell even when you're told to shut up and go away. Unless you're some kind of whizzkid, you won't be published at eighteen or even twenty one. You need to have training and experience before you can produce something worth reading.

Over ninety odd blogs I've discussed various aspects of the writing experience. Now I'll attempt to address the elephant in the room, the devil squatting on every indie author's shoulder: doubt. (Not that it doesn't afflict traditionally published authors, but that isn't the focus of this post).

Ninety five percent of the time I love being indie. I can write when I like, no deadlines looming. I scribble away with my tongue out, lovingly transforming the wild scrawls into a book. I blog and tweet so people know I'm still around. When the story gets five stars or I receive a message from a reader, it's great.

But then there's the other five percent, the five that makes me want to take the books down and forget writing altogether. Bitchy reviews are depressing but at least they're proof that someone somewhere has bought a copy. More frequent is the resounding silence on both sides of the Atlantic. Without a non stop marketing mill behind you, your project is condemned to sink, of no interest or consequence to anyone.

I realise I must sound like a petulant child. "What did you expect, a parade?" Hypothetical Reader 1 scoffs. Or: "If you wanted a wider audience, why not get a traditional publisher like everyone else?" Or, most toxic of all, "Is it because you secretly know you're not good enough?"

Doubt is awful. It's anti creative and harmful. I've come closer these past few months to giving up than ever before; some days I wonder if I'm just being bloody minded. I have to remind myself that artistic careers are measured in a completely different way from other fields. While people accept that not every entrepreneur is Richard Branson, you're not considered a "real" author unless your book has been reviewed in one of the nationals. And if my only concern is fame and fortune, shouldn't I jack it in anyway?

Once I stopped writing for nine months. It seemed like a reasonable decision at the time. I'd received my first rejection from a serious publisher; ergo I'd never get anywhere. (I was fifteen and very melodramatic).

The result? Pure misery. It may sound overwrought and pretentious, but it honestly felt as though a dear friend had died. I somehow managed to go through the motions and pass my GCSEs, but it wasn't life as I knew it could - and should - be lived. I didn't feel like myself until I had a pen in my hand again. Screw Publisher X!

Doubt will always be there. Only the supremely talented or unaware lack it. Since there's no way of exorcising it, you may as well roll up your sleeves and carry on.